Two beds and a coffee machine
by Stella McCoy
Summary: A dark songfic about Chekov, his childhood, and his parents. He evolves from a shy child into a shy navigator who is very cautious about his past.


Two beds and a coffee machine 

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the song "Two beds and a coffee machine", it is owned by Savage Garden. Similarly, I do not own the "Star Trek" franchise (though I suppose I could put it on my Christmas list). I do, however, own this literary work. Reviews welcome. There's simply dreadful language and child/spouse abuse, so I don't recommend reading if you can't stand such things. And thanks to Dusha for beta-reading, as usual. :)

_And she takes another step_

_Slowly she opens the door_

  "Pasha."

  The little boy stirred and slowly opened his eyes. "Mama?" he whispered.

  "We're going on a little trip, Pasha. Hurry and pack, quiet as a mouse. Remember our game?" At his nod, she smiled. "Hurry now."

_Check that he is sleeping_

_Pick up all the broken glass and furniture on the floor_

  Pavel didn't need to ask where they were going; it had happened many times before. Papa would come home angry, hit Mama and their only child, then sleep. He always woke up no less angry, and hit again in the same spots. He and Mama would clean up and leave, but Papa always found them. Maybe this time it would be enough time to let the bruises disappear.

_Been up half the night screaming now it's time to get away_

_Pack up the kids in the car_

  Mama was waiting downstairs. "Hurry, Pasha. We don't want to miss the train."

  Pavel diligently followed his mother's prodding to the station. Though they both knew they were running from his father, she tried to be happy and bring him happiness. "We'll see St. Petersburg, and see Grandmother. We haven't seen her for quite a while, right Pasha? She'll be glad to see us."

  "What about Papa?"

  His question seemed to startle his mother. "He'll join us soon," she said softly.

_Another bruise to try and hide_

_Another alibi to write_

  Pavel remembered the last fight well. His father had tracked in dirt from the street. "Boy!" he'd snarled. "Where the hell'd this dirt come from?"

  "I don't know, Papa."

  "Like hell you don't!" His father raised a hand threateningly. "You tell me where this damn shit came from!"

  Pavel saw his mother dart in from the kitchen. "It came from your boot, Papa."

  "Don't lie to me, you little shit!" The hand began its descent to Pavel's cheek.

  "Andrei!" his mother cried, interposing herself between them. "Leave him alone! It is not his fault that you are drunk again, squandering our money on vodka!"

  "You stay out of this, bitch! This is between me and the boy." He hit her squarely across her jaw, leaving a bright red patch. His attention turned back to Pavel. "Don't blame me for your damn problems, boy. You tracked this damn dirt in and you tried to blame me, who put the damn clothes on your back and kept you alive!" With no one to hinder it, his fist collided with Pavel's head, sending the little boy sprawling.  "That'll teach you," he muttered to himself.

_Another ditch in the road_

_You keep moving_

_Another stop sign_

_You keep moving on_

  It hadn't taken long for Pavel to find an alternative. He began to hide, hoping that his father would forget. "Bitch!" he'd snarl. "You tell me where that damn kid is!"

  "I don't know, Andrei! No matter how many times you hit me, it will not make any difference! I will still not know where he is."

  "You better tell me quick," he'd growl, sending his booted foot into her ribcage as she lay on the floor.

  Pavel heard her groan, and resigned himself to his fate. "Here I am, Papa. I was at Mischa's house."

  "Little shit!" The room began spinning as his father's fist hit his stomach. "What'd I tell you 'bout leaving your toys around? You ain't got no one to take you in if I get killed."

  "There's Grandmother!" Pavel cried, a bright streak of impertinence manifesting itself. "She loves me, more than you ever did!"

  Another blow to his head sent him to the floor. "Don't you ever fucking say I don't love you, boy. Ain't nobody gonna give you anything."

_And the years go by so fast_

_Wonder how I ever made it through_

  When Pavel was eleven, his father broke his mother's leg, leaving Pavel to care for her. "Bless you, Pasha," she whispered. 

  "Shush, Mama. Lie still."

  "You should leave. Your father is a monster, and will hurt you more."

  Pavel shook his head. "He may be a monster," he admitted, "but he is my father. I can't leave you alone with him."

  "I'm an old woman, Pasha. My time is coming. If you go, you may escape his brutality."  
  "Bitch!" came the familiar, drunken slur. "You tryin' to take my boy?"

  His mother drew herself up. "You have taken your boy," she said harshly. "You crush his spirit, his body and his mind. He is my son, but he is not yours! Do you hear me, Andrei? You'll never see him again if you continue to beat him!"

  Andrei became astonishingly coherent. "You take him from me," he threatened, "and I'll hurt you down and kill you, bitch."

_And there are children to think of_

_Baby's asleep in the back seat_

_Wonder how they'll ever make it through this living nightmare_

_But the mind is an amazing thing_

  Yelena Chekov glanced at the sleeping form of her son, curled up beside her. The cut below his eye still bled, a souvenir of Andrei's wedding band when he'd been struck. Dabbing lightly at it, so as not to wake him, she wondered for the millionth time why she didn't leave Russia once and for all. 'Pasha cannot take much more,' she thought mournfully. 'Andrei will destroy him.'

  Pasha stirred, but didn't wake up. 'My beautiful Pasha. You deserve a better man to call your father.' Yelena cast a furtive glance around, as if Andrei were nearby. 'That is not the man I married. Vodka changed him, just as his blows will change you, Pasha. I only hope that you become a better man than your father ever could've been.' "I'm here, Pasha," she said out loud. "I'm not going anywhere."

_Full of candy dreams and new toys and another cheap hotel_

_Two beds and a coffee machine_

_But there are groceries to buy_

_And she knows she'll have to go home_

  Yelena finally escorted her half-sleeping son to their temporary home, a small dacha owned by Yelena's great aunt Sophia, who had died and secretly left it to Yelena. "Pasha," she whispered. When he didn't wake up, she dragged him to the settee and covered him. "We can't stay here forever," she whispered, more to herself than her sleeping son. "He'll find us. I won't have us be exiled, not you, my dushenka. Andrei may change yet, though it seems unlikely."

  "Maybe," Pavel whispered sleepily, opening his eyes. "Papa was nice once. I remember."

  "Cling to it, Pasha, and go back to sleep."

_Another ditch in the road_

_You keep moving_

_Another stop sign_

_You keep moving on_

  "Leave Mama alone!"

  "Git away, you little shit! I'm gonna hit you next!"

  Pavel gathered his courage. His mother was nearly unconscious on the floor, and another hit might permanently hurt her. Though his father was drunk, he was still a formidable six-two man, and Pavel's five-ten couldn't compare. He was considerably younger at thirteen, and he hoped his youth would prove to his advantage. 

  Taking careful aim, he drew back his fist, just as Lars had taught him, and hit his father squarely in the eye. "You little shit!" he roared.

  "Leave Mama alone!" he cried out again, kicking his father's shin.

  "You touch me again and I'll kill you!"

  "Andrei!" came the weak cry from the floor. "Leave Pasha alone!"

  Andrei kicked her again, and she fell limp. Pavel immediately bent to her, and his father lumbered off to sober. 

  "Mama," he whispered, feeling the stickiness of blood on the back of her head as he supported it. "I'll get Doctor Kiriokov."

  "Too late," was the weak whisper. "He..always said he'd kill me." She weakly coughed up blood, splattering his shirt.

  "You're not dying, Mama. I'll get the doctor and..."

  "I love you, Pasha. Be strong."

  Pavel closed his eyes briefly, a single tear dripping from his eye, mingling with the blood on his cheek, and fell onto his mother's dead face.

_And the years go by so fast_

_Wonder how I ever made it through_

  His mother's funeral was so much smaller than she deserved, he reflected. His mother had been a saint, trying to protect him at the cost of her own health and trying to make his life happy. He owned her any good qualities and memories that he'd gotten over the years.

  His father hadn't shown up, which he was glad of. He couldn't bring himself to incriminate his father, the man who'd once made little toys for him and tossed him in the air. It was for that spectre of his father that prevented his revealing of his mother's true death.

  "Mama," he whispered to the headstone. "I miss you."

_Another bruise to try and hide_

_Another alibi to write_

_Another lonely highway in the black of night_

_But there's hope in the darkness_

_You know you're going to make it_

 "Starfleet." That was what Irina had said, just yesterday. "There's time, Pavel. If you keep your marks up, you'll make it to Starfleet Academy."

  That was what he wanted to do, he was sure of it. To live and dream amongst the stars, to be on a ship far, far away from godforsaken Russia and his continually drunk father. Much as he loved Russia, it was going to hold memories for a long time to come. Andrei had repeated asserted that Pavel would remain in Russia, and find work here. He had been forbidden to leave, and gave most of his meager earnings unwillingly to his father for vodka. 'If I keep hiding a little away,' he thought giddily, 'I can leave. I'll go to San Francisco and become a cadet.'

  His father lumbered in. "Boy, where's my damn dinner?"

  "I want to go into Starfleet."

  His father stopped. "What the hell'd you say, boy?"

  "I want to go into Starfleet."

  "Like hell you are!" his father roared. "You're staying in this damn country and that's it! You aren't going to move to fucking anywhere!"

   Pavel snapped. "I told you I was leaving out of pure courtesy," he said firmly. "You have no authority over me."

  His father hit him in his gut. "You listen to me and do what I fucking tell you, you little shit, or you'll be out on the streets!"

   Doubled over, Pavel saw his father's boots recede. "I am going to San Francisco, whether you like it or not."

_Another ditch in the road_

_You keep moving_

"Ensign Pavel Chekov, reporting for duty, sir."

  "Mr. Chekov." Captain Kirk smiled at the somewhat nervous young man, who was trying desperately not to show it to his commanding officer. "I've heard nothing but good things from your commander. Seems you're a pretty decent navigator."

  Pavel tried not to let it eat at him. 'Pretty decent,' he muttered in his head. 'The _Enterprise_ deserves the best it can get, and it got me instead.'

  "I'd like you to report to the bridge at 0900 tomorrow morning, for Alpha shift."

  "Aye, sir," he said smartly, not even trying to hold back his grin. 'Alpha shift! Me! My mother would...' the thought hit a snag as emotion colored it. 'She would be proud.'

  "Jim." Pavel turned to see a man in medical blue approach. "I'd like to see this officer, if you don't mind."

  "Sure, Bones." The Captain turned back to Pavel. "This is Dr. McCoy, our CMO."

  "Come here, Ensign." McCoy led him down the corridor and straight into his office in Sickbay. "You wanna tell me about this business with your father?" McCoy's expression was stern, as if he expected a fight over it.

  He squirmed uncomfortably. "I'm fine, sir, and fit for duty."

  "That's for me to decide, Ensign. You wanna talk about it?"

  "There is nothing to talk about, sir. I am fine."

  McCoy leaned back in his chair. "If you say so, Ensign, but I want to check you out tomorrow after your shift."

  "Aye, sir."__

_Another stop sign_

_You keep moving on_

  "What do you think of our new navigator?"

  Pavel tried to tune out the answer, but the helmsman and communications officer were too close in the rec room. "I think he's nice," Lieutenant Uhura said. "He seems a bit shy, but I'm sure it will wear off once he finds out where he fits in around here."

  Lieutenant Sulu nodded. "That's precisely what I was thinking. The poor guy looks like he could use a friend."

  Pavel couldn't believe his ears. He'd been shunned at school, because of his size and near-perfect marks. He'd only had a handful of friends over the years, mostly the children of his mother's friends. "Ensign." 

  He glanced up, seeing the pretty communications officer there. "Yes, sir?"

  She laughed. "Please, it's Nyota off duty. Hikaru and I would be delighted if you'd join us."

  "I'd like that," he said carefully, his mind thinking of a similar ruse from years ago. 'I won't fall for false overtures of friendship ever again.' "But I was just leaving."

  "Are you sure?" she asked quietly. 

  "Yes," he said firmly.

  She signaled the lieutenant. "Then we'll go with you."

  "No really, that's not necessary."

  The helmsman came up. "Hi," he said good-naturedly. "I'm Hikaru Sulu; I'll be your partner for the duration of this flight. Don't navigate me into any planets that randomly appear, okay?"

  Pavel was halfway to denying the accusation before realizing that the older man was teasing. "I will try not to," he said carefully, "but I do not want a pilot who cannot steer clear of a planet."

  Uhura and Sulu grinned. "Are you sure you won't join us?" she asked again.

  Pavel thought briefly. 'I will never hurt them,' he thought. 'I will never, ever hurt anyone I get close to.' "On second thought, I believe I will." He followed them back to their table.

  'I will never become my father.'

_And the years go by so fast_

_Silent fortress built to last_

_Wonder how I ever made it_

   "Chekov?" The voices outside his door were back.

  "Please, Chekov. Please don't shut us out."

  He knew they were right. He couldn't shut them out forever. But he had to until he could straighten out the thoughts running through his head. Unfortunately, the voices weren't going to give him that luxury anymore.

  Reluctantly, he got up and let Uhura and Sulu enter. "What is it, Chekov?" Uhura asked quietly.

  Sulu laid a brotherly hand on his shoulder. "You know you can rely on us any time you need to."

 Chekov threw a glance at the computer terminal. "My father is in jail." He hardly heard Uhura's small gasp and barely registered Sulu's stony expression. "He was drunk and killed the bartender."

 "I'm so sorry, Chekov." Her words fell on angry ears.

 "Don't be," he said brusquely. "My father deserves it." As much as he wanted to tell them everything: the pain of his bruises and injuries, the anguish of losing his kind, gentle, brave mother, the years of near-depression and hope for Starfleet, he couldn't. He couldn't allow himself the sympathy of others. That was perhaps the one useful thing he'd learned from his father.

  The sympathy of others was only useful to the weak.  


End file.
